


Warped

by framedhim



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Illness, Minor Character Death, NSFW, NSFW art linked, OMC non-con, Psychological Trauma, Severe Mental Instability, Stalking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:39:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3240011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/framedhim/pseuds/framedhim





	Warped

Written for [spn_reversebang](http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/)

  
 **Fic Title:** **Warped  
** Artist: [phoenix1966](http://www.livejournal.com/editjournal.bml?journal=framedhim&itemid=50206#)  
 **Author:**[framedhim](http://www.livejournal.com/editjournal.bml?journal=framedhim&itemid=50206#)   
 **Fandom/Genre:** RPS  
 **Pairing(s):** Jared/Jensen  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Word Count:** ~14,500  
 **Disclaimer:** Not true. Not based on actual events. An entire work of fiction based on fictional happening.  
 **Warnings:** Non-Consensual, Minor Character Death, Blood, Kidnapping, Severe Mental Illness, Mental Health Issues, Psychological Trauma, Violence  
  
 **Author's note:**  First and foremost, thank you to the mods behind [spn_reversebang](http://www.livejournal.com/editjournal.bml?journal=framedhim&itemid=50206#) for another amazing challenge year.  To the fabulous artist [phoenix1966](http://www.livejournal.com/editjournal.bml?journal=framedhim&itemid=50206#) for the inspirational artwork, for the ease of communication, and for going above and beyond with kind remarks and excellent beta work.  You helped make this challenge far easier than one could've imagined, and for that, I'm grateful.  Do yourselves a favor and go now to the art link to check out the goodies!  Kudos to the excellent beta work by [abeautifullie3](http://www.livejournal.com/editjournal.bml?journal=framedhim&itemid=50206#) and [candygramme](http://www.livejournal.com/editjournal.bml?journal=framedhim&itemid=50206#) -- I'm grateful for the time you gave this little fic despite my handing it over at the last minute.  I couldn't have asked for more thoughtful alpha reads you both provided.  As always, any and all mistakes still in the work are my own. This story went in an entirely different direction than I'd planned, and it has the potential to be much longer and with far more horror and creepiness.  My mind's eye drifted, and therefore, there is a surprising amount of romance ~ I don't know how that happened, but there you are.  Buckle up as I played fast and loose with city facts and criminal investigation procedures.  And last, to my dear friend, Dani (she of the psychology background), for playing 'name that psychosis' with me.

 

 

 

  
**Art Link(s):**  [LJ](http://phoenix1966.livejournal.com/4539.html)

  
**Summary:**  Through endless moves, personal grief, and career highs and lows, Jared and Jensen have built a solid relationship.  What happens in the aftermath of one seemingly random interaction will change their lives forever.

 

 

After college, Houston, Texas is home.  East Houston. 

Technically, Jared claims San Antonio and Jensen swears by Dallas, but they’ve adopted the coastal region as their own.  Built a foundation.  

Houston is overly talkative people, friendly if you’re on the right side of the church.  It’s harsh weather with hot, sticky summers and torrential rain, and honestly, Jared could do without the smell of the refineries in their neck of the woods. 

While college in Austin provided more of an open lifestyle, the job market shuttered and closed up before Jensen had his foot in the door.  So they make do, manage to keep a low profile. 

Jared and Jensen work their asses off, and they play equally hard.  Played.  These days, life is quiet, modest living in a two-bedroom apartment, with the inexpensive beige Berber carpet and a tiny back patio separated from the neighbors by tall wooden fences.  Hummingbird Heights Apartments is a sequestered complex, far enough from any main thoroughfares and boasts a tiny backyard that butts up against a local cemetery. 

Only the deceased to judge.  

They stay upright under a mountain of debt from the University of Texas, loans threatening to swamp them both even though they’re on the right path to establishing themselves in their careers.  Professionals with okay salaries and big “fuck yeah” trucks and high profile acquaintances that take no issue in slumming it, eating casual dinners at Casa Ackles-Padalecki.

Time blurs for Jared.  He stresses over future career choices, overwhelms easily with each move.  Prone to depression, to anxiety, he medicates.  Exercises.  Focuses on the strand of years they’ve been together as a miraculous entirety, prefers to avoid counting the days and months until the next big adventure.      

Jensen, though.  Jared thinks his partner probably has a stash of calendars squirreled away, hidden from Jared’s clutches.  Calculated days and months and years of living in dorm rooms, on to their first low-rent, dilapidated house in Austin, to the day Jensen hopped in his clunker—odometer screaming out 200,000--for Houston, all the calendar boxes meticulously X’d out with Jensen’s impeccable handwriting.

Jensen denies any such existence, maybe rubs his arm in irritation and casts nasty, sidelong stares when the topic arises, but Jared’s onto him.  Sidles up, stoops an inch to bury his face in the crook of Jensen’s neck, gently rubs weekend scruff against Jensen’s jawline.  Begs forgiveness.  Unzips, fists, and jacks them off.  Waits for Jensen to throw his head back on a low groan, then washes up, pulls out the spring salad, the tomato with mozzarella and basil and the chicken to grill.  Package with a yellow sticky in familiar handwriting, a list of what he wanted Jared to make for dinner. 

Laughing as he waves the Post-it, smiles at Jensen’s shrug.

Nights like those, which are often, are when Jared loves Houston.  Sitting out back on their lawn chairs, heated air causing the tumbler of whiskey in hand to sweat.  Jensen with a glass of wine next to him, humming. 

Tonight, though, they’re finally closing the latest chapter of life in their miniscule apartment.  The week ahead will have them packing away all their belongings, renting a U-Haul that will inevitably end up with Jensen and Jared’s fathers bickering over who gets to drive.  Neither he nor Jensen have new jobs, and  debt is just as overwhelming now as it was when Jared grabbed his BBA from McCombs and hauled ass to Jensen, already established in their new home. 

What they do have is a sizeable deposit for a rental home.  A cookie-cutter brick rancher in a typical Texas suburb.  A stepping-stone home, rent with the option to buy.  A house to stretch out, to have backyard barbeques and drink good beer with loud, gossipy neighbors.

To think about the possibility of maybe, maybe starting a family sometime in the distant future when work isn’t the all-consuming whirlwind it is now.

Family is in town, drove in to celebrate, and Jared tries to avoid becoming swamped with tying up loose ends at work, heading into the weekend.  Tries not to become fixated on things outside his control. 

Traffic is a bear, truck baking in the late evening heat amongst a thousand other people looking to get off the damned interstate.  Jensen’s voice on the GPS Bluetooth is gravelly, keeps Jared preoccupied while he waits.

“Oh no, Jensen.  If you think for one hot minute I’m shopping with you, you’ve officially lost your mind.”

Phone distortion cuts off the answering retort, and Jared glances over to the dash to see if there are still enough bars to finish the call.  It’s not raining yet, which isn’t saying that the sky won’t open up any minute considering it’s the middle of monsoon season.  Rain clouds hover and threaten, and the thought of trudging through puddles in his new $200 Varvatos Chukka boots doesn’t settle well.  

Those shoes were an extravagant purchase that he scrimped over for a solid three months, so no, he has no plans on joining Jensen in his manic hunt for the only wine that will make their family dinner something worth not wearing denim jumpers to.

“Wait, Jensen.  Didn’t hear you.  Connection’s messing up.”

Jensen’s voice charges through the line, crystal clear.  Amused.   “I said, I know exactly why you’re unwilling to help me in my time of need, and it’s duly noted.  Can’t believe you of all people choose fashion over enduring love.”  

“Sarcasm game strong.  Ha-ha.”

Jared is quick to point out that Jensen recently ditched him on his most recent brunch date with their soon-to-be former neighbors in order to go golfing, and he follows that up with a lewd jab on exactly what Jensen can do with his enduring love.

Jensen’s laugh is short.  “Mhmm, well, that’s obviously never going to happen now that you’ve abandoned me.  Damn, need to go.  Love ya.”

The connection fails on Jared’s response, on the brusque, commanding tone Jensen sometimes affects as he asks a store employee for a Merlot good enough to serve with catered food from Olins.

+

“Jeeze, remember that time—what was it, like, 4 a.m. or something…”

“Oh my gosh.  The tree incident?”

“Yes!”

The apartment is bursting at the seams, good moods filling the air with an enjoyable buzz of reminiscing.  Both their families hit the ground running, living room, guest bedroom, and all two closets emptied into moving boxes.

Olins delivered right on time, and the large aluminum containers of food—chef salad, bruschetta and eggplant parmagiane, breaded-herb stuffed mushrooms, and rigatoni—occupy every square inch of the kitchen’s countertops.  Clatter of plates, clink of wineglasses all around—everyone digs in.  And apparently, that’s the cue to rehash embarrassing moments of Jared and Jensen’s life. 

Jared’s older sister, Spencer, leans against him, her mousy brown hair tumbling down across his shoulder as she gently nudges, finishes her bite of food.  Soft press of nose and forehead to his arm as she peers up, her eyes finding his in sympathy. 

“Hey, you okay?”

Jared warms to her touch, avoids the question by dramatically groaning when his sister in-law, Jessica, and Jensen’s brother, Ian, really lay into their story.

“Is this a ‘tune-out the trauma’ tale, Ian?”  Jensen’s father reclines in the living room recliner, ignoring every bit of etiquette Jensen has tried to instill in the man.  His plate balances precariously on his lap as he reaches for his beer, and Jared looks to see if he needs to restrain Jensen in case there’s a throttling.

Jensen stands and takes his father’s lukewarm beverage, replacing it with a full, crisp bottle.  “Do kick back and relax, dad.”   

Jared’s own father straightens up his posture at the table in response to which Jared’s mother, Andie, scoffs.  “Eric, you’ll need to remove your elbows from the table and wipe the tomato sauce off your chin and shirt if you’re looking to out class Robert in the couth department.”

The baby of the family, Jared’s nephew, Ryan, cringes at the spectacle.  The plate in front of him suddenly becomes the most interesting object on the planet.

Jessica swirls her fork around her plate, stabs the spring mix of salad.  “So, how’d it go?  They were out on 6th Street.  Of course.  And there’s this stray dog that starts marking a hydrant, and there was a dare to see who could outshine the dog’s performance.”

“Oh my god.  Remember the calls from jail?  The sobbing –“

Jared looks over to his partner and smiles.  It’s nice.  This, all the family together, and Jensen smiles.  Nods back.

+

They pack, stirring up dust and allergies.  Get out from under the weight of a too small abode, and sure enough, Robert and Eric argue over the moving van.  When they both ride together, Jared’s mom makes the whole group say a prayer that the men will arrive on the other side of Houston in one piece.

Ian unpacks at a break neck speed, unspoken competition with Jared’s older brother, Mark.  Jensen isn’t complaining, wants to be done and out of the scorching heat and sun.   Weekend traffic clogs up the neighborhood roads, and a woman walking her dog stops to introduce herself. 

Jared pours himself a glass of water, watches the tall, buxom blonde chitchat with Ian and Mark.  Both preen under the attention, setting down boxes to talk and to pet the hyperactive lab at her feet.  Ryan joins Jared by the window, scarfs down a piece of pizza in three bites, and shakes his head.

“Mom will castrate him where he stands.”

“Don’t worry.  That’s the neighborhood watch in effect.  Sent in the local gossip already.”  Jared shakes the ice in his glass, wipes his hand on his shorts.  “Miss Texas laying it on thick. “

Ryan fidgets, goes to scrounge up more pizza, and calls out from the kitchen.  “Think you’ll have to worry?  Dad and Uncle Ian wouldn’t screw up, right?”

It’d been forever since Jensen or Jared had to worry about being openly gay.  The apartment was secluded enough for outdoor make-out sessions, but the new house has an open yard. They aren’t closeted, won’t place one toe back in that direction, but they’ve certainly tried in the past not to push their exposure lest someone take personal offense.  The kind of offense that can get a couple killed.  Part of the move had come on the stipulation that they put behind any hiding of their status.  What happened, happened. 

Jensen decides to take matters into his own hands.  “Ryan, that task has shot the moon.  I’m going in.  Operation save your dad and knock some sense into my brother because, Jesus, his skills are a pox on the family name.  No wonder he’s single.”

Brandy Pascal, as it turns out, is a sly thing.  Intelligent from the quick conversation Jensen strikes up with her.  Working mother with four teens, “All of ‘em think I’m a dumb box of rocks, but they have no idea who they’re messing with,” and openly honest about scoping out the newcomers.  Ian and Mark shuffle inside with more boxes, sidelong glances at Brandy and Jensen quelling as Brandy shouts out that she’s sending her husband over to help.

The golden lab on her leash barks furiously.

+

Fast friends.

Four teens, a husband who just so happens to work in the opposite end of Jensen’s building at Lockheed Martin, and mom’s a dentist. 

“Think she’ll give us a discount on veneers?”  Jared isn’t shamed, sips his iced tea and runs his tongue along the top line of teeth.

The Pascals become the Ackles-Padalecki mouthpiece for the suburbs.  All call put out that the new guys in town make a mean grilled steak, are obsessive over football, and have excellent taste in lawn equipment.  Jared constantly fields questions on equipment horsepower, defers to his partner who is the one with a penchant for tinkering.    

“Mr. Jensen reminds me of that guy—you know.  What’s his face?  Tim Taylor.”   Joey Pascal is a great kid, but his mouth runs off on tangents at the most inopportune times.  He looks just like his father: curly black hair, dark skin, and angled features with a constant worry line above his brow. 

Jared stops to ponder.  He’d no idea any of Joey’s generation bothered with reruns of Home Improvement, much less made references.  Ryan is so caught up in gaming, he wouldn’t know t.v. reruns to save his life. 

Jared and Joey are both up to their pits in soil, digging up the rental home’s sizable front yard to hardscape with river stone.  The house is under a homeowner’s association with the owner paying the fees, but any infractions—brown grass, unedged lawn, a fucking weed—are at the renter’s cost.  The front yard is required to look immaculate despite statewide water restrictions.  Which is no issue for most of the middle to upper middle class in the neighborhood.  Jared and Jensen, however, they need to pinch pennies.  

Truth be told, though, the newest doctor to climb inside Jared’s headspace insists the gardening and intense yard work would be highly beneficial, therapeutic, and Jared, with his mood slipping as of late, is willing to give it a go. 

“True.  Yeah, he is kinda like that. Less farting.  Less havoc.”  Jared wipes his brow and leaves behind a line of dirt, the scratch of a gardening glove rough against his skin, and throws another roll of weed-kill fabric to the boy.

“Dad says Mr. Jensen’s brain is too big for his head.  Says he could make a fortune if he worked for G.E. or something instead of aerospace crap.”

Jared agrees with the thirteen-year-old on the promise that Joey won’t let any of that slip, that Jensen’s big ol’ brain doesn’t need any inflating, thanks. 

Pascals, the Perez family, Mr. and Mrs. Flores two blocks over with the lamppost out in the front yard covered in vine, Mrs. Williams—the twenty-five year old war widow, Todd—the closeted gay twenty-something that is fooling absolutely no one because he’s so flamboyant, flowers rise from the dead in his wake.  These are the people that welcome them to their new home.  That come over for movie nights when Jensen isn’t into an eighteen hour a day workweek and Jared is zen enough from his own job at the hospital to host.  The people who celebrate with them their first month in an actual house, invite them over for brunch and sports on the big screens, and talk politics and the state of the red state. 

These are the people that invite them home.  And for a good while, Jared and Jensen fly high on the acceptance.  Nothing can bring them down.

+

Jared’s Prozac fails in April.

The outdoor work, Spencer constantly calling to ask if he's okay, the therapy—when the meds fail, it’s all static noise.

The rental home is four hundred over the apartment’s lease, and they were barely able to make ends meet back then.  Jensen’s taken three sick days, spent two of them in bed with his partner, the last showering with him and at least getting him to respond to food.  

The couch is spacious enough that he and Jared can fit comfortably, Jared’s back to his front.  Jensen massages his hands through Jared's lengthy auburn hair and reads from work documents on spacecraft subsystems operations requirements.  

Andie Padalecki flies into Hobby International ten hours after Jensen calls her, asking for a support system when the bills and work won’t wait for more time off.  She shows up on their small brick foyer like an angel, bags in hand and creased worry lines.  She kisses Jensen’s freckled cheeks and sends him to the guest bedroom, takes his spot closest to the door on his and Jared’s bed, and spends hours with her son.  Hours and soup and reading and also making sure that Jensen is well and fed, then out the door on time.

Jared is out of work for a week.  When he’s able to return to work, he’s on autopilot.  His employer’s take notice.  Given his position as Assistant Executive Secretary for the Fetal Center at Texas Children’s Hospital, his employers are lenient in time-off for illness, both of the physical and mental. 

Andie picks up the loose pieces, Jensen thanking her in spades, and Andie shushes him as gently she does her own son. 

April passes with near silent footsteps around their home and visits to the psychiatrist after work.  A team of professionals prescribe meditation as well as an increase in dosage.  Yoga on top of that, and between the lot of them, Jared finds his way to May.  Healthier, the black circles under his eyes and in his mind lessened.

+

June, as always, scalds the landscape. 

Jensen’s mother, Grace, flies into Hobby on the request of Andie, concerned Jensen wasn’t taking care of himself.

She sets up shop, sets up appropriate times for them to do yoga, and dismisses their disgruntled objections with determination and two of the Pascal children as well as Brandy by her side. 

A typical Sunday finds Jared and Jensen waking to the rich and decadent aroma of coffee, causing Jared’s nose to crinkle.  He backs into Jensen’s front, hiking a leg up and over so that he can scratch his leg hair up and down along Jensen’s legs.  

After they shower, brush teeth, throw on shorts and clashing comic hero and villain tees, they make their way into the kitchen to devour whatever glorious thing Grace decided to brew and cook.  Summer roast blend it is, and Jensen rolls his eyes when Jared proceeds to coo and desecrate his steaming mug.  Grace looks back over her shoulder when Jensen nudges her, nods his head in Jared’s direction for her to watch it pan out.

“One pound of sugar, a carton of half and half.”   Jensen narrates, takes a leisurely sip of coffee, holding his own mug in two hands to let the warmth unloose the age ache of his knuckles.

Clack of a spoon thrown into the sink after Jared finishes his concoction.  “Nectar of the gods.  Do not rag on my life support.” 

Grace’s stoic face breaks into a small smile when Jared noisily sips his coffee and gives a giant sigh of happiness after.  She doesn’t say much, just like her son.  Prefers to observe people enjoy what she’s planned or brought to the table, whether it food or gifts or a platform for them to spin.

And just as her son, she plans out their days down to the last detail.  Jared has had years to acclimate to the Ackles syndrome, notorious schedulers that they are.  List makers.  Or as Jared best likes to refer to the Ackles family after he and Jensen had one heck of a spectacular non-argument, argument concerning the _need_ for all those lists, “Those who shall remain in control.”

The rental Toyota minivan out front cracks Jared up.  Perturbs Jensen to no end until he discovers that Ian, visiting for the weekend, will sit in the last row.  He’ll have fun with that for ages.  There’s a satchel full of goods needing taken care of, and Grace wants the enormous bag in the front with her.  She packs them up after they finish breakfast, herds them out the front door despite their age and attire making it more than a little bit ridiculous, and gets them on the road to the hospital and city center to run errands.

One hour later, stuck in traffic, Grace has Jensen pull up his schedule on his iPad to review the day once they make their initial stop at the hospital.  Jared has a love child of a data-entry project that will eventually save his department’s executive secretary a minimum of an hour on logistics.  There are a few kinks in the program that need to be ironed out, but if the initial project is accepted, Jared will have upstanding reviews if and when they ever move. 

Ian has a potential job lined up in the downtown area, wants to make a break from the tedium that preoccupies his old position in Dallas.  Jensen has no obligations and is only in want of a particular carrot cake from a particular bakery downtown.  Raisins, no nuts.  He’s the only one who is casually dressed, a vintage OP tee with cargo shorts. 

For the time being, on the interstate, the sound of NPR programming fills the car.  An old episode of Car Talk is on, the brothers Click and Clack explaining to a caller why their ’92 Ford is making that particular sound.  Jensen reaches across the space between the second row of the minivan to grab Jared’s hand, and all three men fall asleep as Grace maneuvers them on through the city.

+

The meds keep working, and the parents stay in their respective cities.

Leaders in the oncology and psychiatric departments at Jared’s workplace transition easily to the invitations of fine dining in Jared and Jensen’s new home.  Complete with gentle ribbing.  Dr. Emmanuelle Swift and her husband are gracious and funny, always a welcome presence.  More so, when Jared is left alone, and Jensen’s workweek turns into eighteen hour/seven days a week as the company’s latest satellite mission preps for launch. 

Jared’s weeks are a consistent nine-to-five.  His field of work very rarely entails long months of more than twelve-hour days for special projects.  At first, it’s an annoyance.  Shouldering past Jensen on the way to the shower the first interaction they’ve had in three days.

By the third week, they’ve eaten less than seven meals together in total.  Jensen’s demeanor goes from put together to slightly frazzled.  There are saddle bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, and a nervous thrum to his every movement—that he needs to be out the door as soon as possible so that he can get right back to work.

By the sixth week, Jared is ready to ring his significant other’s neck.  Jensen snips at the television, gripes at the KitchenAid appliances for smoothie atrocities, and bitches about the take-out from the local Thai restaurant.  Post-it notes of lists show up all throughout the house, tiny reminders that feel more of a slap in the face than helpful suggestions. 

Putting up with the behavior isn’t the issue, and feeling that way is its own slap in the face.  The problem for Jared lies with the fact that all his attempts at easing Jensen’s mood--helping their home-life run as smooth as possible, stepping on eggshells—none of it seems to be useful.  

The breaking point comes at the tail end of Jensen’s work project.  Lists and moods and long separations due to work—those are all part of being in a relationship.  Bad with the good or else why bother?  No, the breaking point comes after weeks of no sex. 

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I miss you.”  They’re on a park bench, taking a rare lunch break together.  These days, Jared can’t afford to be fussy in choosing the right moment.  That he has his mouth full of gyro as he’s about to confess some supremely cheesy angst over sex kind of grosses him out, but again, he can’t be picky. 

“You need to back off.”  It’s the stress.  Jensen never snips until he’s fifty hours past exhausted and run-down.  He stops elaborating, clips his words more than usual.

“Not today, my friend, not today.”  The joke rolls easily off Jared’s tongue to make up for the adrenaline rush over an imminent fight.  In public. 

“In public, Jared?  You want to go at it here?”

“You even know how to go at it anymore, Jensen?  Got a list for that?”

There’s heat there, jaws clenched and food forgotten.  A few more choice words back and forth that cause some stares from joggers going past. 

“Shit.  Sorry.  I’m sorry.  I’ve been expecting a lot of you lately.  Haven’t given back, and that’s entirely unfair.  Here-“   Jensen reaches over and wipes a piece of shredded lettuce off Jared’s tie. 

+

By the end of August, their home is back in order.  Mission complete, data entry project a success—it’s easy to fall into a nice lull.  They fuck in the mornings again because they can.   They have the extra hour in the evenings to screw off, build a five thousand-count jigsaw puzzle, play a game of cards or Risk. 

They have the time to discuss what they’ll pay off, how to divide the extra income amongst the bills and entertainment fund of their budget when Jensen’s raise comes through. 

+

The document slides to the center of the table where Jared sits, half a bite of steak speared and almost in his mouth where it ought to be.  He pauses, flips the fork and inhales the meat, chewing and then reaching out past the vase of white dendrobium to inch the papers towards himself. 

The words “Lay-Offs imminent” scream out in Times New Roman, and Jensen slumps with an exaggerated huff, fingers already pinching the bridge of his nose.

Once the food clears his palate, Jared takes a sip of whiskey and reads.  Reads until they’re both ready for bed, and doesn’t stop until the following day, lunch untouched in front of him in the hospital cafeteria.

Jensen had explicitly said not to worry, said not to get an ulcer because he had things under control.  And if there’s one thing in their entire history that Jared can point to and unequivocally say “this is an order,” it’s when Jensen Ackles expedites planning around emergencies and asks for Jared to follow in line.  Nicely, of course. 

And damn it, Jared can do that. 

+

Spencer calls every two to three days to see how they’re holding up. 

Feelers out, Jensen quickly lands a lead to an opening position with Analytical Mechanical Associates in Hampton, Virginia.  It’s a great opportunity, allowing him to focus on aerodynamics and thermodynamics, with a chance to expand upon (the employer encourages it) conceptual ideas for NASA engineering. 

“Downside?”  Jared throws his head back on the pillow.  Jensen rests on his belly between the open V of Jared’s thighs, kissing up the soft skin of each leg, setting his teeth in like an almost bite then soothing the pinch with his lips. 

“Downside:  the chance of extensive travel, twelve-hour work days, and we’ll have to move to Virginia.”

“Seriously?  Upside?”  Jared can barely function with Jensen’s fingers up his ass, Jensen’s lips and teeth and tongue across his balls and up the underside of his dick.  Jensen grins into a lengthy lick, and Jared could just cry from the sensation.

“Upside:  paid, extensive travel with occasional retreats that you can come with,” lick, “work only four twelve-hour days with three days off,” a nip, “there’s a sweet position opening for a Co-Executive Secretary in the Psychiatry department at CHKD,” an insistent press to Jared’s sweet spot, “and we can get married in Virginia.”

Jared surges up at the last and visibly shakes when Jensen leans up and takes him throat deep, staring up the length of Jared’s body.

“Your sinful mouth-“

Jensen hums, and Jared nearly loses all stamina.

“Isn’t going to save you from a proper proposal, you ass.”

He comes on the vibrations of laughter around his dick and lies sated and pliant when Jensen fucks into him.  After, Jared curls up lazily into the heat of his partner and falls asleep to Jensen whispering in his ear what lies ahead.

+

Agave, in the downtown area of Houston, boasts silver agave tequila of the best quality and fine dining Tex-Mex.  Jared is in love with their peach margaritas, and Jensen finds a way to get Agave’s rooftop patio reserved and decorated with vases upon vases of Jared’s favorite flowers. 

Twenty of their closest friends, colleagues, and neighbors toast with enthusiasm to their new jobs, to the move ahead. 

When Jensen drops to one knee, holding Jared’s hand and asking for his forever, Brandy Pascal breaks down in tears.

“Now that’s more like it,” follows Jared’s 'Yes' as he kisses Jensen in front of God and everyone in the middle of Texas.

+

Machipongo, Virginia. 

The they find the rental, two-story farmhouse with wrap-around porch on Zillow.  The level of scraping together every last nickel and dime to pay for the move, to pay for the new home… it does keep them up at night and into the morning.  Jared wobbles to the right of okay, but he finds solace in shared heartburn over coffee and brown-sugared grapefruit. 

Robert, Eric, Mark and Ian take the time off to assist.  Spencer agrees to fly up to Virginia to help with unpacking.

There’s not been much time to collect dust, stir up more allergies this go around.  Jensen organizes the entire move down to specific rest area pit stops.  Jared takes over from there, ensures each bullet item on the list is accomplished and fiddles with the budget until they’re planned to the last penny.  He feeds them all, sends out thank you notes to people who’ve helped them thus far, and puts in his final notice with the hospital. 

Jared quietly cries on the front step when an enormous basket of candy and balloons shows up on their front porch, handmade cards from many of the young patients he volunteers to spend time with during lunch breaks.  Which is fine because his dad and brother tear up as well while Ian stands just inside, wiping at his face and stating that the weather is messing with his sinuses.

Jensen and his father look completely thrown when they return from the packaging store to a house full of misery and swear off looking at whatever made all the men turn into whimpering puddles of goo.

Later, the night before the big drive, Jensen comes to bed with a suspiciously familiar cardboard paper card.  There are tears in Jensen’s eyes when Jared takes his glasses off and kisses his brow, a soft touch to each closed lid.  They burrow under the covers and rest.

**+**

The home sits on four acres, waterfront property, surrounded by a dense smattering of Norfolk pines and maples.  It’s a newly built, gorgeous craftsman style home.  The back of which looks out over a creek inlet off the Chesapeake Bay, and they have a pier.

“We have a pier, Jensen.  I may actually have to throw myself on the ground and kiss it, so you’ve been warned.”   Robert, Mark, Eric, and Ian ignore them and instead spend a good bit of time walking around the property, surveying. 

“Technically, the owner has a pier.  We are renting-“

“To own.  We are renting to own.  Oh my fucking god, there’s the boat.  Tied onto our pier.”

“Jared, it’s hotter than hell right now.  You’re going to make yourself sick getting this excited.  Don’t give me that look—I am not treating you like a child.”

Eric Padalecki intervenes on Jensen’s behalf, manages to wrangle his son off the small motorboat the landlord is allowing them use of and gets him focused on helping unpack the U-Haul. 

It takes five pizzas, four pitchers of lemon water, and two cases of pale ale to manage one non-stop day of unloading and unboxing, and Jared and Jensen are officially moved in.  They leave to hunt down seafood take-out while their dads and brothers stay behind, shower and cool off.

“I don’t like clams.”

Jensen about chokes to death on his laugh, turns left at yet another piece of razed farmland.  “Don’t I know it.”

Jared continues to look out the window at the rural community they now call home, his smile out in full-force.  “Rude.  I meant, I’m hoping this diner place has a hell of a lot more seafood because I despise the texture of clams.  Oysters, too.”

Jensen doesn’t say anything but shrugs.  Nothing to say because the diner has no online menu, and he’s obviously never been. 

Sixty dollars less in their budget, it turns out that the diner is a diner slash tourist slash fishing mini-mart and the level of heavenly smells from the kitchen alone was worth the adventure.  All the men eat crab legs and broiled trout and shrimp until they’re ready to explode, or as Ian points out, “I’m either going to run yard circuits or unzip for the sake of humanity.” 

The meal's a good send-off to the guys as they take the long drive back home the next day, and Spencer flies in the day after to help with smaller things, to spend some quality wedding planning time with her baby brother. 

The night before she arrives, though, Jensen makes damn sure Jared gets his wish to kiss the ground.  And the boat’s deck, as well as the kitchen counters.  All-important christening of the new home.

There’s a light outside the bedroom window that shines a little too bright through the curtains.

At first, Jared can’t believe it’s morning already and peers up over Jensen’s shoulder to where the alarm sits on his side-table.

3 a.m.

Jared traces through his muggy brain for an explanation.

The road to the house leads further down onto a waterway inlet.  Zero traffic.

He and Jensen have initial meetings with their new employers at the crack of dawn, so Jared tries to slide out of bed without disturbing Jensen.  He tip toes past the kitchen and on into to the living room. It's faint there, but he sees the same, strange shine of light through the front windows. 

Jared spooks easily, but he knows Jensen’s traveling will increase soon; so, he doesn’t want to start off their life in the boonies scattering anytime something went bump in the night.  He makes a mental note to place his old Louisville baseball bat by the front door for such occasions. 

Slowly, Jared unlocks the front door and opens it, peers around the corner.

The light disappears suddenly, and with it, any clue as to a source.  Jared hears nothing but nature and swallows down the adrenaline-fueled urge to slam the door and lock it.

Just as he steps fully onto the front porch, Jensen clears his throat behind him.   It takes a decent thirty minutes for Jared to recover and catch his breath, but once he does, he swears up and down to Jensen—who believes him—that he knows he saw something and heard a faint rustling in the woods.  Jensen starts to call the police, but Jared stops him out of embarrassment.

+

Spencer flies into Norfolk just as the home’s central air dies. Jared’s attempts at grooming himself before they leave to pick her up from the airport ends with him growling into the mirror and cursing Jensen’s smart, shorter style.  When Jensen says nothing—he doesn’t want to stir up the air any more than need be—Jared calls their A/C unit the spawn of Satan that must have a hate on for fucking longer styles.   

The landlord swears even more.  “Just built.  A/C was serviced and checked before you moved in.  That’s… odd.”

Spencer adds fuel to the fire when her planned compliment for their appearance sputters a slow death; her eyes are wide at how rumpled and wet they are. 

“Lies.”  Jared calls her out as he runs both hands back over the top of his hair, grabs her bags from the conveyor, and deposits his big sister to the lobby of the Norfolk Sheraton .  He and Jensen apologize that it’s only for two days, which they’ll hope to have the air situation corrected by then.  Spencer takes pity and treats them to dinner and drinks and a long look at the hotel pool just in case they want to cool off. 

Coastal Virginia in the summer is a melting pot of sweat, mosquito, and hurricane, with a side of clouds of humidity as thick as wet rags shoved down your throat for kicks and grins.  101 degrees is nothing, a cakewalk on most days, and like Houston, the weather seeps into a person’s pores, drags them down, and wears them out. 

Morning walk to the mailbox—exhausted.  Climb out of the air-conditioned truck—exhausted.  Unlock the front door and collapse on the couch—soaked _and_ exhausted.   

Jared’s second interview for the position at CHKD is bright and early in the morning, so he begs off the pool. 

As soon as their keys hit the junk jar by the front door, he’s questioning his sanity on that line of thinking.

“Do you think threats of maiming are enough incentive to get the hvac company out here quicker?”

Jared drapes himself over the railing at the bottom of the stairs, kicks off shoes and socks and jeans.  He looks vaguely like a marionette, jerky movements as he shimmies the clothes off his body.

“Because nothing says, ‘Hi, we’re the new gay couple who bring tidings of joy,’ like a first impression hit on the local businessmen."  Jensen spins Jared around, handing him a paper fan made of notebook page filler complete with frayed edges that he knows Jared loves to pick off and throw all over the floor like confetti.  The sound of joy Jared makes totally makes up for the eventual mess. 

“You did the thing, holy shit.  Wait.  Can you make the number flower thingy?” He’s teasing, and Jensen knows it.  A bead of sweat drips down the band of Jared’s boxer briefs, and Jensen can’t concentrate on terminology from the 2nd grade.  His vision centers on the varied ways in which he plans to take Jared in the next few minutes.

“Fortune Teller.  It’s origami that’s—you know what?  Fuck that.  I have enough stamina to climb these stairs and get us into the shower where I want to do delicious and unlawful things to all of this."  Jensen circles his hand to emphasize Jared’s entire body, slightly so as to not cause a heated breeze and suffocate right there on the bottom stair.

The paper fan isn’t going to do jack squat to alleviate their problem, but damn if Jared doesn’t unfurl Jensen’s creation with gusto, fanning his throat and using it to cover his mouth.  There’s a mock surprise and indignity in his eyes, and he lets loose his full Texas twang.  “Mr. Ackles, I don’t think that’s very proper of you.”

Jensen swats Jared’s ass all the way up the steps and on into the shower and proceeds to show him just how improper he can truly be.

+

CHKD is located in the heart of Norfolk.

The traffic rivals that in Houston, so neither Jensen nor Jared are put-off. 

Jensen drops Jared off at the hospital’s lobby entrance and then goes to park the car.

There are government work vans everywhere, on top of the commercial contractors moving in and out of the lobby at break-neck speed.

Jared impresses the department heads, leaves the hospital with a smile on his face. 

They never notice the car tailing them home.

 +

Spencer sets up their dining area like a conference center:  manila folders and the long, orange mailing envelopes beside 2- inch black binders, all of it spread out over their mahogany table.  Contacts for both business and for the wedding.  She excels at organization, and unlike Jared, who utilizes that skillset solely at work, she makes it work for the home. 

Jared steers clear, enjoys watching Spencer and Jensen get elbow deep into social media debates as they trade binders and iPads back and forth.  Hard copy, soft copy.  This night, they’re hunched over and whispering back and forth.

“I swear, you two become more like actual brother and sister every day.”

Jensen says nothing, scratches at the decent beard he’s let grow since his new job is okay with the casual look, and adjusts his wire frames.  He looks on edge, and it sets off Jared’s anxiety.

Spencer peers up from under her black readers, twist of hair escaping from its half bun ponytail.  She mirrors Jensen’s expression but soon adjusts the line of her lips to dimples.  “I’ll accept that as a compliment.  Although, we don’t bicker enough.  And we,” she points her ballpoint in Jensen’s direction across from her, “have your best interests at heart, our sugar bear of glorious gummy—“

“All right!  Shut up!”  Jared mock sneers and throws a pair of folded socks at Spencer’s head.  Jensen sits back and rubs a hand across his chest as he yawns and stretches.  Reaches for his cup of coffee. 

“I’m done.  Can’t take it anymore.  If you two wind up past midnight planning the apocalypse, please be sure to include me in your survivalist scenarios.”  Jensen tips his coffee mug to Spencer in a goodnight salute, and he smoothes back Jared’s hair and kisses him lightly on the top his head.

When Jensen’s settled down, no longer making noise while walking across the bedroom upstairs, Jared leans forward conspiratorially.  “Should we get in trouble?”

“Mmm…”  Spencer pushes her chair back to stand, pulls at Jared to follow.  She marches them across the open floor space towards the kitchen and pulls out a bottle of chardonnay.  Jared finds two old, chipped wine glasses he and Jensen saved from a yard sale back when they were still living in the dorm. 

They make their way outside to the pier, both kicking off their shoes to sit and dip their toes in the warm water.  Glasses full, bottle in Spencer’s hand and held against her middle, Spencer leans into Jared and settles her head on his shoulder. 

“Do you like it here?”

It’s a huge question.  Jared knows very little of the area, even less of the locals.  “Everyone seems to mind their business.  So far, we’ve not gotten nasty looks.”

“That’s.  Wow, Jared.  That’s really good, hun.” 

“I met with Dr. Vivica Stuart and her husband, Dr. Stuart.”

“Oh yeah?  And what’s mister Dr. Stuart about?”

“I’m glad you asked, Spencer.”  Jared rubs her hair and kicks at her legs with his own.  “Dr. Bryce Stuart is an associate in the Perioperative Anesthesia department, and he thinks his wife has made an excellent decision to hire me on for the Psychiatry department.”

Spencer shoves off Jared and punches him in the arm, her thin fingers bruising.  “You ass!  How the hell did you keep that a secret all night?!  Oh my goodness, Jared.  Congratulations.   Jensen is going to be ecstatic.”

“First, ow.  Jesus.  Second, Jensen is only going to care about their therapy dog.  He’s this gorgeous German Sheppard they’re letting me take home on weekends so we can bond, but mostly, I think it’s that Dr. Bryce is tired of his furniture covered in dog fur.”

“Shut up.  A great job and a giant fur baby?  Is the pay good?”

“Yeah.  The pay is going to help drastically with the school loans, the truck loans, and the entire deficit that we’ve taken on apparently.  But the best part is the medical.  I can get communicable diseases and finally see a doctor again without having to leave a kidney for payment.”

“That’s great.  You can use the money and organs to pay me off when Jensen keeps the beard for the wedding.”

That surprises him, and Jared can’t stop the flash of images it brings to mind.  “Naw.  He’ll be clean-shaven.  This is a yearly thing.  He thinks he’s some sort of hip lumberjack, I don’t even know.  Takes about a month for the ginger within to reveal itself, and it shocks him back into finding the nearest barber.  Personally, I think he likes having the excuse for the hot towel treatments.”

“No way.  I’m winning this.  Lumberjack groom, for the win.” 

The wine bottle is down to the last four drops by the time Jared gets to joking over travel expenditures just for him and Jensen to get to work.  He tips his head back and lets the subtle night breeze bring a cooling relief to his cheeks.  Stares up at the stars and feels Spencer move as she stands and wipes debris from the pier off the seat of her yoga pants. 

“It’s good, Spencer.  We’re going to figure this place out and make it work.  We’re happy.”

+

They sign their marriage certificate two weeks later under the late evening sun.  Immediate family flies in, and everyone dresses in light dress casual.  The officiate is an elderly judge from Cape Charles who was fully on board with the state’s yes vote to marriage equality. 

Jared and Jensen wear formal beige suits with their matching engagement cuff links.  They celebrate on the pier with champagne and eat local fruits with grilled asparagus and chicken underneath a pine canopy of fairy lights and soft, gauzy mosquito netting. 

Andie and Grace compare childhood notes over their boys, and Spencer captures every moment on an old, refurbished Polaroid camera Jared had buried in his room’s closet back in San Antonio.

When a guest Spencer doesn’t recognize approaches her, she thinks nothing of it.  He’s friendly, handsome, and he smiles at her like she’s the sun.  He introduces himself as Paul.

He leaves without saying goodbye, but Spencer doesn’t take notice as there are pictures of the grooms to snap.  Only, she can’t find the camera.

And late in the evening, when the stars are out and the bats are having a field day and manage to entrance the group, the grooms receive their biggest gift. 

Spencer pulls them aside and steels herself, sits and gently offers a promise.  One she’s willing to fulfill in the future if they ever decide to expand their family. 

Jared is the first to grab hold, lift his sister up, and bear hug within an inch of her life. 

Jensen joins in soon after, arms around Jared’s around Spencer’s.  “I love you both, and Spencer, this is an amazing gift.  But, I believe the more important issue at hand is that bettin’ money you owe my husband.”

+

The post marriage routine is surprisingly easy to settle into.  They both leave the house together, one truck right behind the other at 5:30 a.m. sharp.  Once they cross the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel, Jensen veers towards the Upper Peninsula and Jared drives farther along the Southside.  A little over an hour and fifteen minutes one way, every day. 

Jensen is adamant about cell phones, calling to check in on one another, but Jared forgets and gets home around 6:30 p.m. to a home voice mail full of Jensen swearing at him up ways and sideways for not having his phone on.  And Jared totally gets that, makes mental notes to do better.

It’s hit or miss over the next few months. 

True to plan, Jensen takes frequent business trips to Denver and Florida.  They’re apart far more often than not, but those weeks are followed with an extra day off an already three day weekend.  Not to mention an accumulation of leave Jensen can work towards and extra pay incentives.

Projects about the house pre-occupy Jared’s frequent alone time.  If he’s not passed out early from a full day of running around in his own job, he’s out in the yard, gardening, or upstairs in the attic, revamping the space into a music studio for Jensen. 

+

A year after the wedding, Jared’s work environment implodes with construction.  He can vent to Vivica and Bryce, but they’re up to their necks in case work and operations, respectively, and it is his job to keep the administrative portion of the department running without a hitch.  Barnabas, the department’s therapy dog and mostly the Stuarts’, plays a key role in keeping Jared calm on the weekends when Jensen is out of town.

CHKD isn’t small potatoes in the field of new technology, and yet, they’re lacking.  An influx of recent donations gives the hospital the ability to upgrade and resume being on the forefront in Pediatric care.  Renovations in state-of-the-art equipment as well as an overhaul in the Psychiatric Units administrative offices obviously leave staff struggling with work productivity.  Jared finds himself making allies with admin over in Neurosurgery and winds up reshaping half his department's planned guest speech events while seated in the back of the hospital cafeteria. 

Vivica leaves Jared alone on those days, lets him to his own table with his laptop and his precious leather binder (first anniversary gift from his now-husband that they’ll have to pry from his cold, dead hands when it eventually starts to fall apart).  The cafeteria has amazing food, but Jared doesn’t let anything more than coffee slip past his lips, afraid for the extra calories he’s not burning at the hospital’s gym or running Barnabas when Vivica brings him up on the weekends to play along Jensen and Jared’s private oasis of a beach. 

Childhood depression is the topic du jour in Jared’s agenda, a plethora of documents and travel plans to seminars that he needs to square away before 2 p.m. and noon has come and gone.  Tomorrow is Tuesday, and Tuesday is an even messier turn of events for more of the department needs.  Dr. Prabst’s and Dr. Lenner’s, specifically, need crucial schedule rearrangements, and Jared may thrive off the work, but he also might have a coronary if he doesn’t get his office back.  Pronto.  Plastic chairs make his brain hurt.

He’s dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s on Outlook when a loud hiss off to his left causes him to look up from his laptop. Red hair and red beard, and a lot of it, fill his vision.  There’s a second hiss from the guy, and Jared has a quick, distinct notion of acknowledging attraction before it occurs to him that the guy is actually hurt.  Jared didn’t see what caused the injury, but there’s a pinprick of blood as well as a decent bruise welling up on the man’s fingertip. It blanches and then returns to its state of purpling as the man squeezes it.  Releases. 

The man has a bag of lunch in his other hand, and Jared wants him to sit.  Anywhere at his table is fine, but the guy is standing off to his side, and it’s proving to be a weird distraction that Jared has no time for.

“Hey, you wanna…”

The man stares at him, blue eyes blank, and he doesn’t smile or respond except to pinch the hurt finger in a two-second pattern.  Jared’s uncertain if the guy heard him.

“No big.  Sit if you want.  I’m just… I like my space back here free, so if you don’t sit, would you mind giving me some space?”

Again, the man makes no move but to press on his finger.  He stares though, and Jared feels a sense of being looked over—prey not potential interest—until the man suddenly pulls out the chair opposite him and sits. 

“Paul.”

Jared has the sudden notion that this guy’s behavior is distinctly off and that he could be a patient.  As if the guy’s reading his mind, though, he flashes Jared his worker’s badge.  Electrician it is.

“Okay. Um…” Jared hadn’t really thought this through.  The last thing he needed was to start a conversation with his workload.   “Jared.  Good to meet you.”

Jared extends his hand for a shake, but Paul stumbles on the cue.  He looks at Jared’s hand for a second longer than normal before finally offering his own.  

It’s an awkward start, but Paul eventually falls into answering the easy questioning Jared has always had a knack for. 

“I was hired on as part of your hospital's renovations team.  Wiring and coding.  Inspections.”

“You work for one of the companies?”

Paul laughs, the whites of his teeth showing, and it makes his entire demeanor change for one tiny moment.  He locks eyes with Jared when he responds, and for the first time, Jared has the distinct feeling that the situation is charged.  Tense.  “Absolutely not.  I’m my own boss.  Master electrician and a damn good one at that.  Half the contractors the hospital hired shouldn’t be allowed to touch a Lego set much less a circuit breaker.  I could run circles around them.”  

Jared knows what it’s like to have temps on board, has seen people with the same degree as his own completely lose their cool under pressure from the higher ups, has seen entire departments lose steam and confidence in their place of employment under the wrong hands.

Paul squares his shoulders, sits with more ease the longer they talk.  “Even if a business screens, there’s always the possibility of poor quality workmanship leaking through.  I will say that this hospital says it takes patient safety seriously, so I hope they pull themselves together.”  

“I would hope so as well.”

The conversation drifts back to awkward silence before Paul stands and places his chair carefully back in under the table.  He looks off to the side, as if he’s expecting to see someone, so Jared turns to look as well.  There’s no one, and Jared looks back when Paul addresses him, avoiding eye contact.

“I have to get back.  You do business here every day, Jared?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t look I’ll have office space for at least another month.”

“Good.  See you then.” Paul tosses his lunch bag away and nods to Jared as he leaves.

+

“So, you’re telling me he invited himself to chat whenever?”   Jensen is on speakerphone, slurring his words because he’s mid nightly toothpaste and mouthwash ritual. Jared wishes the hotel in Denver offered free Wi-Fi.  They’re avoiding Skype for the next week and a half, and Jared already misses watching the stupid mundane things like Jensen brushing his teeth.

“Yeah.  Surprised me too.  Weird.  Anyways, tell me what you’re wearing, sexy.”

Gargling is the answer, and Jared whistles. 

“Mouthwash.  Latest fashion, heard it’s trending.  And in a minute, I’m going to be slathered in hotel lotion because the air here has a firm restraint against moisture.  Of any kind.”

+

At first, Jared doesn’t recognize him.  Paul walks ahead of him into the cafeteria, and his signature hair color is hidden under a black beanie.  For not having ever seen him before, he and Paul have suddenly managed to start running into one another every day since the first meeting. 

If Jared were truly paranoid, he’d question why he couldn’t get out of the guy’s periphery.  Sure, he’s checked out the guy with human resources, but Jared convinces himself that’s what everyone would do if they were smart.

It’s just… Jared thinks there’s something.  He can’t put his finger on the exactness, but it makes him alert.

It’s not that Paul didn’t pass Jared’s questions of HR with flying colors, though.  Paul Millsen:  born in 1978, which places him at Jensen’s age.  Class “A” licensed Master Electrician based out of Poquoson, VA.  Self-employed, impeccable references from business all over the Virginia peninsula.  Any more personal information, Jared is told he’ll have to do his own research. 

Today, Jared stays two steps behind and studies the man.  Paul is tall, about Jensen’s height at six feet and maybe one inch.  He’s not exactly broad, more like wiry lean muscle.  He shares a similar style as Jensen as well, that is if Jensen were allowed to wear casual hipster construction worker as business casual.

Jared’s yet to see Paul outside of work, so he doesn’t know if their fashion would still be comparable.  Paul’s hair is always up in a ponytail or in a trendy man bun thing that Jared’s never ever been able to pull off. 

Right before he’s about to launch into an internal pep talk about going over and saying hello, a shadow passes across his boots. 

Paul slaps him on the arm when Jared visibly jumps.  He offers no apology and looks amused when he asks, “Lunch, yeah?”   Jared mentally kicks himself, and stands a beat without saying anything.  Paul’s hand is firm on his bicep, and when Jared goes to shake him off, Paul’s grip tightens.

With no idea why his tongue won’t work, Jared moves towards the cafeteria.  He’s not some princess who needs to be steadied, and his mood sours under Paul’s attention—under the lasting impression of fingers on his arm.  “Yep.  Let’s go eat some over-priced chef salad.”

Jared means to ask him those personal questions that have been on his mind for a while, but Paul cuts him off. 

“You mentioned a guy one time.  Husband?”  That’s all the provocation Jared needs to let that particular floodgate open.   Talking about Jensen always soothes him, and today, it helps to relieve the migraine that threatens his left eye.

“And you?”  Jared asks when he’s finished.

“The gay thing or the married thing?” 

“No ring, but I try not to assume on any account.”

“Straight the last time I thought about it. Had a girlfriend who passed two years ago.”

That strange sensation of not knowing when to be quiet and what to avoid saying comes back when Jared offers his condolences.

“It was sudden.  Heart failure, no issues before then.  Perfectly healthy and young.  You ever lose somebody, Jared?   Like, loved with your whole heart, and then one day, gone in an instant.  And you get that sucking feeling you can’t climb out of?”   For once, Paul’s shoulders sag as he leans forward on the table, hovering over their empty orange trays, closer to where Jared keeps his chin to his chest. 

Yes, Jared knows that mountain.  Struggled through that trauma.  How in the blink of an eye a person’s entire existence can extinguish, and people that love them are left in the wake.  Jared taps on the table, locks eyes with Paul, and says goodbye before he owns up to his own story.  It’s too much, too soon to talk about this with someone he’s just met.  

+

Jensen wants to meet Paul. 

It’s been a month since Jared’s and Paul’s first chat, and Jensen’s had enough of this stranger that sat down in his husband’s life and managed to twist things slightly south.  The level of fire and brimstone temper Jared has displayed for a solid week has their house in an uproar.  To find out that it was due to some careless statement by a guy who may or not be emotionally well, may not have his husband’s best interest at heart?  Yep.  Jensen wants him over to the house for Sunday dinner or Texas Hold ‘Em or knitting for all he fucking cares.

Jared had worried for a half a second that Jensen was jealous and then that he himself was an asshole who made Jensen jealous.   Those ideas were put to pasture as soon as Jensen scoffed and took a slow sip of whiskey.

“You think I’m unsure about being man enough for you.  That you’re that heartless?  I’m not proving shit to you because I am _definitely_ sure of where I stand in my own husband’s life, and you know it as well.”

Jensen may not be jealous, but he sure as hell isn’t happy.

Paul accepts the dinner date when Jared invites him. 

Paul, as it so happens, dresses in his spare time like a model who’s unsure whether he’s a biker or a mountain man.  When he shows up on the Ackles-Padalecki front porch wearing a tweed jacket over a green and red argyle sweater and cuffed jeans that show off his matching socks and brown boots, Jensen’s thrown for a moment.  There’s now a Harley hog out front, parked between their trucks, and Jared waits for Jensen to take it all in.

Dinner is leek soup and peasant bread, breaded artichoke and lemon-baked fish with a crab stuffing topping, to which Paul compliments with a gruff nod and thanks to the cook.  Jensen doesn’t expect much, but he is pleased the guy had enough social graces to bring Jensen’s favorite bottle of Merlot and Jared’s favorite beer.

After dinner, they head to the back porch to talk, listening to the crickets and tree frogs rather than the static air of silence indoors.

Jared looks settled for the first time in forever as Jensen starts to question their guest point blank.  He wants to know where Paul lives, is there family, about his past, his hobbies. 

Paul stands nearer Jared, leaning against the porch railing.  Jensen says nothing but stands as well, crowds into where his husband is sitting on their back porch rocker.

“Grew up in Poquoson, um, that’s a city on up the peninsula.  Parents weren’t well off, but we liked to sail, and my dad made that possible by working his ass off.  He passed away a few years back, and Mom had a small stroke back in the 90’s, so it was just me looking after her and my younger brother.”

Jared rocks forward, sits with his elbows on his knees and drink in hand.  “He live around here?”

“No, me and Jake both prefer up by Seaford and all that.  Nice enough area, though I don’t get out here hardly at all.  That’ll change with some upcoming jobs.”

When Paul heads home for the evening, he shakes both their hands and thanks them again for the dinner.  Says he’ll make sure to swing by when he starts work on the housing development in their area. 

“Hit me.” Jared fishes, finishes wiping off the table as Jensen unloads the dishwasher.  Barnabas stayed under the table by Paul’s feet during dinner, not displaying his typical evening romp around the house before outside time.  No nudges for love, even, and he’s making up for it by weaving a track around them.  Jared catches him by the collar and gives him quick pets about the ear and chin before locking up for the evening.

“I can say that he’s handsome.”

Jared spins around from the French doors and points, accusingly, “And you doubted me on that.  See?”

“Right.  He can’t recall trivia for shit, and his beard game is strong which kind of pisses me off in a way I’m not comfortable with.  Hold me.”  Jensen holds his arms open wide and gives a smarmy grin to his husband. 

“Ass.” 

After, the house locked up, nightly routines complete, they climb into bed, exhausted.  Jared stares up and tracks the fanned swirls of ceiling plaster above the bed. 

Jensen turns in bed to face him, raises up on one elbow to look down on his husband’s face.  “He’s different, Jared.  I don’t know.  Lots of people are different, doesn’t mean anything.  There’s something, but it did veer an inch out of that zone of ‘this guy wants my husband, upsets my husband,’ and into guy code.  Which is good, because I was pretty pissed.”

“Your honed observation is to tell me Paul’s a dude.  Stuff.  And things.”

“Okay, first, no names but mine or yours in this bed, please.  Second, he ate my food, and grunted out small talk.  Don’t let him get to you like that again, but know that if he does, he and I are going to have a very different interaction.   Yes.  Stuff.  Things.”

“You aren’t the caveman you make yourself out to be, Ackles.  Kinda nice though.”

“I have your back, and I know you have mine.  That makes us both cavemen, so be it.”

Jared dreams that night of something hitting the window.  When he wakes, the house is still and quiet, including Barnabas.  He falls asleep before he can register the second sound by the bedroom window or Barnabas’ low warning growl.

By Wednesday of the next week, Jensen’s company flies him out to a seminar in Key West.  The Wi-Fi isn’t free, but they decide that not video chatting benefits no one.  Jensen stays in Key West through Sunday, back early Monday morning for two days off.  Easy.

Jared pulls his truck into the long driveway and almost hits Paul’s motorcycle. 

Paul is waiting for him on the porch, and he pushes a case of pale ale forward with his foot when Jared gets to the bottom step.  He’s had a few, a smell Jared recognizes as always cloaking him.  Paul’s presence, commanding and here, throw Jared for a loop, so he unlocks the door while asking what Paul’s doing there during the week.  So late during the week, in fact.  He waves Paul forward, but Paul insists on Jared going first. 

“I was in the area.  Housing development broke ground, and I picked up a few odd jobs in the area.”

Paul stays for dinner, heads out when Jensen skypes.  Doesn’t stick around longer than to stare into the connection over Jared’s shoulder before saying his goodnight.  Doesn’t hear Jensen ask and Jared explain. 

+

Paul makes seeing them a habit.  He visits Jared all the time and more frequently when Jensen is home. 

He tells them his only true hobby is sailing.  That he’s never had issues with anxiety because the sun and the water make it impossible to be tense.  No one pays any mind to the fact that he’s always closest to Jared.  He eats their food.  Drinks them under the table.  Learns their family members’ names and plays whatever card game, board game, game of pool they ask him to join.  He brings pie and nods when Jensen’s workload increases.  Cooks and makes wicked peach margaritas with top shelf tequila for Jared when Jensen is out of town.  Even when Jared would rather he not, but Jared finds it easiest to not say anything.

Jensen allows Paul to look through old photo albums when there’s a bet established as to who looks more like whom in the families.  Paul is never loud, but he’s adapted to them, taken on some of Jensen’s mannerisms. Jensen jokingly tells him to get his own style.

What Paul lacks in enthusiasm, he borrows from Jensen, and the two of them in one room tend to overwhelm Jared enough to know he needs to put some space between them, step outside and breathe fresh air. 

Paul sits on their sofa with his legs crossed and up on the couch.  His hair is back in a black beanie, and he wears a black casual tee and matching running pants.  He looks intense staring down at one particular pic, taps his fingers on it, and Jensen flips it over.  It’s an old colored photo dating back to the early nineties, and Paul holds it up, questions.

In it, Jared is in his late teens, seated in a rocker, and dressed in classic blue medical garb.  He’s holding a tiny newborn.

“You asked me if I knew about loss.  There’s your answer.”  Jared pushes up from where he sits on a soft throw rug, heads to his and Jensen’s room without another word. 

Jensen entrusts Paul to see himself out and follows.

+

Jared doesn’t explain that night or any other any time soon.   He shuts down, immerses himself in work, and tells Paul when he stops by to go home even when Jensen has invited him in.

Jensen lights candles, changes the flannel sheets to soft, expensive cotton with high thread count, keeps a running start on chamomile tea and vitamin supplements to boost Jared’s moods and meds.   Eventually, work is necessary, and he flies out to Denver once he’s certain that Jared is on an upward cycle. 

Jared pulls out of his slump right before Jensen leaves. 

He wakes to the sensation of being watched, the feel of someone or something at the foot of his bed despite the fact that Jensen is out of town and Barnabas is with the Stuarts.  

He decides the only way to get better is to plan an entire weekend celebration the day Jensen is expected back home.  His phone is missing, which will piss Jensen off to no end.  He buys a burner until the old one turns up—under a pair of dirty jeans or buried in the backyard thanks to one of Barnabas’ new habits.  

Jared decides he’s going to make the most of four solid days to pamper his husband, planning undivided attention, purchasing a year’s worth of lube, and unpacking a few tried and true toys.  He asks for the following Monday and Tuesday off from work and preps the house until it’s almost too romantic.  He puts back four candles, tucks them into the kitchen cupboard, and is satisfied with the overall aesthetic.  The only thing he has to do is get through the rest of the current week and pay a visit with an apology on hand.

**Wednesday**

The next time Jared sees Paul, he actively seeks him out.  It’s not hard to track him down.  The marina is small, only holding ten boat slips, and it’s the first one Jared searched in Poquoson.  First time, it turns out, is the charm.  

Jared parks his truck by the pilings on the waterfront and heads down the pier. 

“Mind if I come aboard?”

Paul stands closer to the bow, one arm braced against the guard railing as he stares off past the horizon and rubs along the crease of his brow.  He wears his hair in a loose hairband and the sweater he wears is large, swallows his features over a long-sleeve button up.  He looks tired, bags under his eyes.  Jared thinks it unfair that he looks good.  Handsomely disheveled.

Jared settles in the cabin when Paul waves him aboard.  Speaks when Paul doesn’t, watches as Paul moves around groggily.  “Listen, I wanted to explain that night.  That picture.”

Paul listens, focuses on opening a classic Merlot, one that Jared thinks Jensen would adore.  He pours himself a glass and Jared a tumbler of whiskey on the rocks.

Stands against the small kitchenette oven and works his jaw as Jared talks.

“That night with the picture.  If you’re wondering why,” Jared hand waves to signal the space and distance he’s placed between them the past few weeks, “My sister.  That pic was the night my sister, Spencer, went into labor.  It was—rough and awful and she had no clue that the baby passed away.  Certainly not in my arms.  They took Spencer straight from the birthing room to the OR.  Appendicitis.  Doctors had no idea how she’d not passed out from the pain of delivery and her organs failing, but there you go.”

Jared grabs his keys, pushes his untouched whiskey aside. 

Paul finally sits.  Rests with his hands clenched on his hip.  “The baby?”

“He just stopped breathing after that picture was taken.  Spencer was too out of it to hear the code.  Didn’t get to hold him.”

“What that must have been like.”  Paul’s eyes are blank, glassy when he looks over to Jared. 

Jared can’t tell if he reads empathy or not in that look.  “She didn’t forgive me.  Not for the longest time.  Anyway, you asked if I knew what it was like to lose someone—back when we first met.  That’s my story.”

Paul stops him, tight grip and possessive on Jared’s waist before he exits to the pier.  It unnerves Jared, entirely too familiar of a touch, his skin twitching where Paul holds onto him.

Paul doesn't seem to notice (care) that he's made Jared uncomfortable. “Meet me out in Hampton.  Thursday Block party.  I’ll text you the address on your new crappy phone.  Shake off the slump.  One last before Jensen comes home, right?”

+

**Thursday**

Jared feels far too tired and excessively overdressed for the Block party.  Black suit and a tie from work, new haircut, fresh shave.  He feels like his father walking in on a kegger.

Paul texts, and Jared walks down past the cordoned off areas for the pub crawlers, orange streetlights, holiday décor adorning lampposts, blue lights adorning trees that couldn’t make a quick enough get away.  The glow of open door restaurants and art galleries floods onto the street, adding to the scenery.  Paul stands in the distance, hair down, bomber jacket with Sherpa cuffs over an insanely loose white shirt.  Jeans with a belt that looks too familiar. 

He looks good.  Better than he had the night before on the boat. 

He looks dangerous.  That old nagging feeling comes rushing forward.  Prey, not desire.

Beer in hand.  Handing it out to Jared.

Jared gets to him on the heels of a crushing urge to see his husband.  To wish this were Jensen in front of him, instead of this man that he feels he barely knows.  Jared wants to say enough, to absolutely no more visits, gathers the courage by taking a long swig of the beer he took from Paul. 

One more day, and his husband will be home, and Jared can put this forsaken week behind him. 

Before he gets the words out, Paul starts walking back towards the parking area in silence. Jared stands still and watches as he pushes through window shoppers before following after.  If Jared doesn’t call things off, he’ll never feel like he has control over his life here with Jensen.  Paul has that effect, that he sucks all the energy out of the room with his somber moods and constant pulling Jared into his orbit. 

Paul doesn’t slow down, but he turns to look back at Jared.  Jared follows.  Paul walks faster, weaving in and out the crowd, pausing only seconds when Jared doesn’t move fast enough.  Jared can’t, his long strides wobbly and shortened and his vision fuzzy.  To a passer-by, Jared thinks he probably looks drunk.  He pushes on as fast as he can, past lit buildings and down back alleys until the buildings are abandoned ones and there’s no one anywhere near his general vicinity.

He doesn’t think the next minute.  Can’t.  The next five minutes happen, but Jared doesn’t remember them. 

There’s a car ahead, not his truck.  Not Paul’s motorcycle.

Jared’s legs feel as if they weigh a thousand pounds, and he doesn’t recognize the area they’re in. He can’t spot a significant landmark, can’t see a stoplight, and can’t feel his left hand.

Paul reappears in his vision. Jared can’t hear too well and thinks Paul actually believes Jared’s going to go somewhere with someone who …

“Get in the car, Jared.”

Jared can’t move his right arm, and his vision goes black for a second when a pop of excessive pressure explodes across his nose.

Not pain because his face is nearly numb.

When Paul’s fists land once, twice, Jared’s body sways backward.

A third and fourth, Jared can’t feel the orbital fracture.  Yet.

A fifth and sixth time, Jared hits his knees and collapses face first into filthy grass and gravel.

Before he blacks out, his mind flashes to Jensen coming home.

Jared drools into the dirt beside a group of cigarette butts and broken glass and mourns that he won’t see the look of surprise and love across his husband’s face.

+

**Friday**

Jensen is having an amazing day.

His initial seat is upgraded to first-class. 

His flight arrives at the gate a full twenty minutes ahead of schedule.  His bags are first to be loaded onto the conveyor belt, and he walks through the terminal and gets into his truck with no issue. 

Traffic, for once, is an absolute picnic.  There’s no road rage in all six lanes, and the Bay Bridge remains accident free from start to finish. 

When he heads further up the easternmost peninsula, there are sunny skies all the way.

He pulls onto an edged driveway, and he has to verbally reprimand himself not to skip to the front porch. 

Four days.  Alone.  With his husband who will come home to a weekend of debauchery and relaxation, and Jensen cannot wait. 

He’s out of his suit jacket before he can unlock the door and manages to unloosen his Dior grey tie, the one Jared picked out for their first anniversary dinner, without strangling himself. 

He stops in the doorway, stunned at the scenery in the house.  Gorgeous silver and white flower centerpiece, votive candles tastefully lining the table and along their fireplace mantle.  A list on Parchment stationery detailing the activities for each day off is written out in Jared’s handwriting.

Jensen is so turned on, he worries about the likelihood of passing out from blood loss. 

Item one for Friday tells him he should be showering for an evening out on the Southside. 

Jensen moves swiftly to follow orders; specifically, he doesn’t shave in accordance with the instructions and dresses in a blue sweater and long-sleeved button up combo with fitted jeans that Jared has set aside in their room.  He pats himself on the back for having such a phenomenal day, pours himself a glass of water with lemon, and waits. 

And waits.

+

A warehouse isn’t what Jared opens his eyes to.  Nor a basement.  It’s entirely unexpected, the natural light of sun coming through an open window.  The air is freezing. 

It stings his eyes.  The sweat stings worse, hurts in the tiny cracks and fissures along his cheeks from the beating he took last night.  The pull of a large cut along his right cheek makes him flinch. 

Jared blinks in a failed attempt to clear the red, mottled vision and gags around the piece of cloth stretched tight around his head—it anchors his tongue, and the sensation makes him nauseous.

The close sounds of a cough and of skin roughly rubbed against stubble makes him frantic as he tries to clear the last of the red haze from his vision.  Sunlight shines across his dress slacks.  Across the chocolate wood flooring and mess of stark white sheets and blankets on a bed.  Jared sees a leather jacket and a pack of cigarettes on the floor. 

Paul sits across from him on the unmade bed, staring at him in silence, his red hair haloed by the sun.  He’s gorgeous, and the thought is entirely too poetic for the piece of shit, Jared thinks.  Paul’s shirtless despite the chill.  He stares until Jared wants to scream.

Jared can’t make a sound because there is duct tape covering the cloth gag in his mouth.  Can’t fidget as he’s bound securely with rope to a wooden chair.

He braces for a blow that never comes when Paul explodes into movement.

“He isn’t allowed to have what he can’t take care of.”

Jared certainly never expects the flash of camera, but he does recognize the sound of the Polaroid. He has a momentary, crazed thought that Spencer will be elated that he’s found his camera. His eyes roll back in his head, recoils against the pinch of a needle as Paul shushes him into a state of black.

 

**Saturday**

Jensen drives to the Cape Charles police station to speak to someone in person. 

He’d called in the missing report late Friday evening, circled the living room and ran to be ill when the dispatcher wouldn’t take him seriously.  He’d called all emergency rooms at the area hospitals.  Called Dr. and Dr. Stuart.  Called Paul, who asked Jensen twice if he should come over even though Jensen said no. 

Not one clue.  Not one lead.

By 4 a.m., he called Jared’s parents and his mom and resisted the urge to cry because Jared was going to walk in the front door any moment.  They’d put the incident behind them, and Jensen would call everyone with sincere apologies the following morning.  What happens is that the family will fly in Sunday.

What happens is that Jensen discovers an orange mailing envelope on his front porch, waiting to be opened.  Jensen can’t do that alone.  An instantaneous thought of what this is nearly cripples him.  He won’t open the damn thing.  Can’t risk his husband’s safety by jeopardizing evidence.

The police department isn’t busy, but he’s told by the clerk that his voice carries when he screams.  Two large police officers march him to a tiny office with a card table and forcibly sit him on a rickety folding chair. 

“Wait.”  One says.

Jensen has nowhere else to be.  The other threatens him.  “Be quiet, or we’ll restrain you next time.”

Jensen’s watch hits 11:30 a.m. when the door to his tiny office opens, and a petite woman with badly dyed auburn hair introduces herself. 

“Yvette Fabron, criminal investigation.  So, you are my—” Detective Fabron sits adjacent to him and flips a photocopied page over and back.  “You’re Jensen Ackles.  Jensen, may I see what you brought with you.”

Jensen nudges the envelope towards the detective and shrinks back when she uses a gloved hand to open the metal tabs.

He watches as she pulls out a single, lined notebook page filled with paper clippings of letters, all in different font and seemingly random usage of upper and lower case.  The various clippings spell out a message, but Jensen is more immediately drawn to what’s attached to the paper by an over-sized paperclip.  

Right there, in single Polaroid picture, is Jared’s face beaten and bruised.  Duct tape over his mouth, and he’s restrained across the chest with rope.

Jensen recognizes the suit, the tie, and thinks, as he stares at his husband’s bloodied face, that Jared’s mother is going to kill him for messing up his best dress jacket.  The thought is horrible and it burns in his head as Detective Fabron reads the message:

     “ _Jensen.  He’s mine now.  Aren’t you sorry you didn’t look closer?_ ”

Jensen’s eyes hurt.  His hearing hurts, and when he opens his mouth to explain and explain, he becomes confused as to why Fabron has her hand squeezing his jaw and telling him to calm down or she’ll call for back up.

“Jared is your husband.  We’re going to need you to focus, okay.  And you say you first noticed him missing when?”

“Friday.  He never showed up to work.  Never came home.  Never called.”

“And this isn’t typical of your husband’s behavior?”

Jensen steels himself against the field of questions.  Explains that his husband is terrible at keeping his phone on his person, and is worse at keeping it charged.   That no, they hadn’t been fighting and had they been, Jared wouldn't leave for a night and would never blow off work.  No, his husband does not socialize with addicts.

“Was he seeing anyone, Mr. Ackles?”

“Excuse me?”  Jensen hates this woman.  Hates her pink cheeks and her efficient manners. 

“Were you aware of Mr. Padalecki having an extra-marital affair?”

“No.”

Detective Fabron jots down more notes, hands the ransom note over to officers for processing, and makes solid eye contact with Jensen.  “All right, Mr. Ackles.  Your missing person report is on file.  We have work to do.  I’ll be following you home.”

 

Paul meets them on the front porch. 

He stands between Jensen and the detective when Jensen looks pale and uncomfortable with questions that she and fellow officers ask to gather bits of evidence. 

Forensics sorts through photos, and Paul makes hot tea and stands with his hands in his pockets as Jensen begins to place pictures back once the officers are finished.  Paul makes a quick grab for a Polaroid—Jared and Jensen at their wedding reception, surrounded by family.  He takes the photo and pins it to the message corkboard by the kitchen phone. 

“Mr. Millsen, you say you saw Jared on Wednesday?”

“I saw him on Thursday.  Block party, walked him towards his car.  He wasn’t drinking, so I got in my car and left.”

“And Wednesday?”

“He came to the boat to explain a heated issue he’d had.”

Jensen perks up from his daze, tries to ingest all the information Paul is telling these people in his and Jared’s house.

“What happened to your hands, Mr. Millsen?”

Paul looks down at the busted knuckles and scratches along his skin. 

“I box.  And I caught my hand on a piling trying to bring the boat into the slip.  Messy hands.” 

Detective Fabron asks Paul if he’ll agree to a search of his boat residence, and he agrees.  She leaves Jensen with the promise that she’ll continue to do everything in her power to help him find his husband.

+

Jared struggles against the drug’s effects and manages to tip himself over.  He prays to not vomit or else he’ll suffocate.  The open window lets in the evening air, and Jared shivers and passes out.

He wakes twice more that night. 

Once to the sensation of a wet rag wiping down his forehead, eventually cleaning the mess between his thighs.

The second time he wakes, Paul is furious.  He shoves a phone screen in Jared’s face and says for him to watch the video.  Jared laughs, the sound low.  He recognizes the tape is off, the gag out.  He recognizes his stupid phone. 

“Of course you have it.”

Paul’s eyes dance over Jared’s body.  The video is a news clip of Jared’s missing person’s report.  Jared isn’t sure why Paul is upset.  Not like it’s unusual to hear that someone who hasn’t come home in a fucking day would have a little bit of news exposure.

The problem is, according to Paul and the subsequent punches he uses to explain to Jared in perturbed fashion, the detectives searched Paul’s boat and turned their noses up at all the evidence he had lying around. 

“I made it so obvious.  They didn’t take the bait.”

Jared’s face feels like ground round when Paul finally calms down and says he needs to tidy up. 

+

**Sunday**

Andie and family catch the earliest flights available.  They're hysterical, but Jensen is so far gone in panic that he has no words of sympathy.  

+

When Paul wakes him with a gentle touch of a wet sponge along his spine, Jared is almost shocked that he can twist that fast.  If he’s undressed, he might be untied.

That is until splintered bones in his arms resist his weight.

“Broke a few bones so you wouldn’t move around so much.  You keep resisting, and it makes this a thousand times worse for me.  Having to keep reprimanding you, your atrocious basic behavior—it’s exhausting, Jared.  Jensen lets you get away with so much crap, I swear to God.  It’s a wonder he’s managed to keep you alive with his leniency.”

“Don’t feel very alive right now, Paul.”  Jared chokes on a wad of mucous and blood.  His head rolls on his shoulders when Paul presses down too rough against a bruise on the inside of his thighs.

Paul hums and continues bathing.  “Ketamine, if you were wondering.  Forensics should be impressed with that one.  Probably trying to figure out how anyone could move this much mass around.”

Jared slips in and out of consciousness until the sun coming through his makeshift prison registers around noon.  If he can’t make it out of this, he hopes Jensen will someday find peace.  That he’ll know that Jared fought.

+

Jensen waits for the family members to arrive, pours over every detail, blames absolutely everyone that’s not family.  Pins the kidnapping on the mailman, the local fisherman, Vivica. 

No clue until later in the evening:  a call on the house line, a voice over the phone--one he’s never heard before--gives him the name that’s been in the back of his mind for months.

“This is his brother.  Is this Jensen?  Are you there?”

“…”

“My name is Jake Millsen, Jensen.  You know my brother Paul.  I saw the news.   We have a house there, part of the family's estate.  A larger one and then several cottages up and down the peninsula.  This is…  my God.  It’s just like him.  He’s not well.  I’ve called the police, let them know.  But he’s not well, and it’s too much of a coincidence.”

Jensen lets the phone fall from his hands.

+

When Paul punishes, Jared closes his eyes and floats.

He allows his mind’s eye to skip back, find the summer when he and Jensen attended a women’s defense course with a group of female friends. 

A loop plays the instructor’s words back to him:  Rape isn’t about lust or desire.  Rape is about power issues and control. 

Jared floats away, stands outside himself and sees his body torn.  Watches as Paul chastises Jensen by brutalizing Jared, maims Jared for Jensen allowing his toys to go unchecked.  Watches as Paul bites into his shoulder. 

Marks him as his own toy.

Jared centers himself, waits to be ripped back into the pain.  He’ll need it and the anger to find a way out.

+

**Monday**

The sailboat is a bust.  They have a good enough reason to search the houses in the area, but Jensen stays at the house just as Detective Fabron suggests.  Jensen has to wait so that Paul will come to him.

+

Jared uses a plastic knife to cut through the bindings on his ankles.  By the time he breaks loose, he’s ready to start using his teeth.

Paul left when it was still dark outside.  Jared has no idea if he’ll be back, and he refuses to stick around and find out. 

Escape or die trying.

+

Paul sits outside Jensen’s house and watches.  None of the guest bedroom lights are lit, and all the family is either asleep or wandering around downtown Hampton, passing around flyers with Jared’s face plastered on them.

When he knocks, Jensen answers and allows him in.  Typical, he thinks.  Not a survival instinct bone to be found.  Paul would care, but he’s done now.  The cat and mouse game has gone on so long that Paul wants it all to stop.

+

Detective Fabron’s voice on the answering machine cuts through the living room, words flying in order to cram all her pertinent information into the message.

“Jensen.  Laura and David Millsen.  We’re looking into Paul.  Younger brother Jake took care of Laura before she was placed in a nursing home.  Dad’s dead, but Jake Millsen said the man was a mean drunk, cut off from the family fortune.  Paul, though.  Jensen, it turns out the girlfriend he told you about?  She suffered severe abuse before she passed.  Never reported it, but the stories Jake is telling?  We’re talking sociopath.  May have been stalking Jared since you first moved in.  I’ll call back, and Jensen, don’t allow him in again.”

The message barely registers.

Jared knew.  Hell, Jensen knows he did too at some level.  Now, now he’s back at the station, looking down at the kidnapper’s note, the picture of his husband beat to hell. 

Detective Fabron’s message doesn’t make much of a difference when Paul sets down the newest Polaroid. It’s a picture of a house number, taken with Jared’s old camera that Spencer had said she’d lost.  He smacks it down on the table where Jensen sits. 

Jensen will never understand how, in that moment, he was able to remain calm enough to not kill the piece of garbage.

One more minute.  One more scrap of information.

“Is this right next door?”

Paul doesn’t look amused.  Isn’t having fun.  There’s a distinct look of being cut-off from the reality the rest of the world exists in, and Jensen and Jared need to be out of this nightmare once and for all.

“So done.  Tired and bored.”  Paul reaches into his waistband and pulls out a knife.

Jensen sees the knife.  He hears someone growl, and barely registers the crunch of bone across his fist.

+

Jared drags himself out into the living room of a small home.  Fingernails bloodied and chipped from prying the last bits of rope off his ankles.  Arms a mottled mess of blacks and blues.

Out the door, his hip catches on a nail, but his scream is too weak to hear over the birds in the yard.  Jared uses one good foot to push his entire body forward, and he slinks down the front steps of the cottage.

The house isn’t far back in the woods, so he only has to pull himself across the yard.

The dirt is compact and jarring, everything aches, and he might die of exposure, but Jared’s free. 

He thinks he’s most proud of that, that he never stopped or gave up. 

His vision is shot, though, as well as his sense of direction; Jared never sees the ditch until it's too late.

He rolls down the grassy embankment by the road, and the crack of his bones breaking against the exposed area of the drainage ditch pipe’s concrete leave him seizing in pain.   He falls unconscious as the sun reaches high noon.

+

The Millsen cottage is exactly two plots over.  Jensen nearly flips his truck racing it down their secluded back road.

He peels onto a dirt driveway and barely manages to turn the truck off and throw her in park before falling out of the door and running inside the cottage.  He’s frantic, screaming for Jared, but there’s no sound, no movement.

Only blood and syringes.

Jensen rips at his hair, panicking with a scream on his lips before he spies a single trail of gore leading out of a bedroom.  He follows the path, forward two steps, and he's outside, the blood trail light and near unnoticeable on the pine needles coating the yard. 

Finds there area few more spots down by the end of the driveway, and when he looks down…

When Jensen pulls his husband’s broken body from the drainage ditch, a rivulet of crimson streams down from between Jared’s legs, and his left arm bends at an unnatural angle.  It’s too much, when the most important thing is to get him help.  Reaction curbed with sheer willpower, Jensen carries Jared across the yard towards his truck.  His legs wobble along the uneven terrain, ankle slipping and bending.  Jared’s arms and legs spill and bounce. 

Forty Feet.

Thirty Feet.

When Jensen starts the ignition, he pitches out the door, sick.  The cell phone ringing repeatedly over and over… it waits as Jensen places Jared’s seat back and buckles him in.  All he needs is to get ten miles down the road.  To Fabron, to the ambulance that would take too long to arrive at the current location.

It’s only when they wheel Jared into recovery following eight hours of surgery, when Fabron is offering Jensen a Styrofoam cup of coffee, does Jensen realize he’s been crying.

 

** Epilogue **

Three years later:

There was a trial and a conviction.  The case was splashed across the web as Breaking News, and Paul was eventually sentenced to twenty years, possibility of parole denied. 

Dr. Vivica Stuart, who had stepped in as Jared’s intake psychiatrist when Jensen brought him to the hospital, made a convincing case. 

As did everyone that knew of Paul Millsen.  Knew of the ‘crazy’ Millsen family.  Jensen and Jared wanted to know just where all these people were hiding when they’d first moved in.

Paul testified, claimed he was innocent.  That the Ackles-Padalecki’s had set him up.  Went on record as saying he had to go watch Jared sleep at night, through their bedroom window.  Went on record as saying that Jared made him feel alive.  And then, that he didn’t.

The prosecution used words such as sociopath and stalker love-obsessed, words such as grandiose sense of self and pathological liar, and all Jared wanted to do was hide away forever.

He doesn’t.  Jensen and Jared's recoveries, both individaul and as a couple, begin with Dr. Samuel Ortiz.

It takes three very long years until Jared can truly say that his nightmares aren’t as intense.  That he can walk outside without having a panic attack.

Dr. Ortiz congratulates Jared.

Three enormous changes have taken place in Jared's life post-trauma.  For a solid year after the attack and the trials, any change was cause for an anxiety attack. 

Now, in less than three months, he and Jensen will have a new house, and Jared will start working from home in legal data entry.  Prestigious law firm with excellent benefits.

“New lease on life.”

The panic attacks were worked on as soon as their daughter came into their lives.  

Jared likes to think it's a new start, that he has paid his dues for twenty lifetimes.  Despite the statistics following traumatic assault, he and Jensen continue to become a stronger unit.  It’s not a miracle. Far, far from anything remotely simple.  It’s hard work and years of therapy.

For them both, it’s learning to trust again.

They still have a hell of a road ahead of them.  Jared, though, finds he's content with those odds.

“Appreciate all your help getting us to this point, Dr. Ortiz.”

Jared tells the office receptionist that he hopes she has a good weekend as well, and heads out to where Jensen has his crew cab parked out front.  Their one-year-old plays blissfully in her car seat.

They head home and try to breathe easy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                            


End file.
